Unnoticed
by crisis6669
Summary: When you want the one you can never have, the one you can't even talk to... sixth chapter up... Woohoo, longest one yet!
1. Chapter 1 Unnoticed

Disclaimer; Not mine, never was. I'm not making any money either, so if you try to sue me, you'll only waste your money on lawyer fees. But don't let that stop you

Warning: I wrote this fic in math class... Actually, I wrote the poem that's in the fic during math class, the rest came later. Lol. This just means that it has not been beta'd, probably sucks, and was written to stop me dying of boredom. Anyways, enjoy! And R/R! Flames will be used to roast my math teacher. I blame her for this.

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Hermione sat in potions class, daydreaming. It wasn't like her. She should be paying attention. They would probably need this for a test later, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She glanced down at the page she had written, wondering about abstract things, like obsession, love, hatred and indifference. With a sigh, she folded the sheet, and looked back up at the man she loved. The man who would never turn, never see her as anything more then a little girl, with big teeth and bushy hair. The man who was currently dictating notes about polyjuice potion to the class. She tore her eyes away, and began taking notes. 

The class seemed endless, but in a flash, they were getting up to leave. She glanced down at the poem that had come from nowhere, and then threw it in the wastebasket on her way out of the classroom. She never knew that a certain tall, onyx haired individual, who was curious to know what had distracted the studious Hermione Granger from her books, plucked it from the trash. 

He was shocked, to say the least, at what was written.

_Never gunna notice,_

_Your never gunna care,_

_Your never gunna turn around,_

_And__ catch me as I stare. _

_Falling and forgotten, _

_You love me in my mind,_

_In real life, you couldn't give a damn,_

_To my lonely tears, you're blind._

_Darkness envelops me,_

_I'm__ dreaming of the lie,_

_Fantasy of fulfillment,_

_That stops the crying tug inside._

_Forcefully ignoring, _

_Pretending all is right,_

_I'll__ lie awake in bed tonight, _

_Longing for your light._

_I'm__ "Nothing more then a child", _

_You're__ oblivious to my charm, _

_I'd__ do anything to change my age, _

_And__ fall into your arms_

_Regretful of my innocence,_

_Ashamed because I'm meek, _

_As I sit alone in this cold dark room,_

_I wish I could believe._

_This chapter of life is ending soon,_

_Keeping you in the corner of my eye,_

_Just one more day to see your face, _

_Hating the impersonal goodbye_

_For everything I've ever had,_

_I'd__ trade it all for this, _

_To take your hand, to have this dance,_

_And__ that constantly dreamed of kiss._

_But__ you're never going to notice,_

_You're__ never going to care,_

_You why are my eyes so drawn to you,_

_Desperately willing to stare._

_Severus Snape will never see, _

_All that he means to me._

_With all the knowledge he possesses,_

_He will never know_

_He can't see. _

_He's__ blind to my love. _

_My admiration._

_My desperation to please him._

Snape leaned back in his chair, and took a deep breath. That was not what he had been expecting. 


	2. Chapter 2 Falling

A/n; I am back, though I do not know why you like this. Lol. Maybe you just love my inspiring poetry! As if. (Voices scoff in background). Anyways, another random chapter, courtesy of the one and only... Math class!

A/n2; I just realized! Its summer! That means... No more math class! And while that is great, because I am no longer bored on a regular bases, it also means no dramatic flashes of inspiration. Oh well... I guess I'll just have to resort to thinking now. Damn it. 

One week later, Hermione sat on the stone ledge of the Astronomy Tower window, flicking through the little black book that she carried with her everywhere. It was a book where she tried to write down all of her poetry, and often song lyrics, or quotes that were amusing and meaningful to her. Occasionally, when it struck her, she would make also write letters to people that told them the truth about what she really thought. But she never sent them. On the other hand, she never threw them away, despite the fact that she looked back most of what she wrote with a bitter mirth. You never know, right?

She had been wondering a lot lately about the poem she had thrown out after that potions class. In retrospect, she probably should have kept it, and copied it into the book later, but it was too late for that now.  It was gone with the trash. She had been watching Snape at the dining hall a lot lately (well, no more then usual) and he seemed to be staring at her. But it was just her imagination. 

She poised her quill above the paper, and tried to recall the poem.  It was useless. She could only remember the beginning and the end, and that was because she would never use the term "gunna" when she was speaking. She laughed at the thought of what people would do if she started using slang. It really was rather comical. 

She looked out onto the grounds, her laughter dying quickly. She hardly ever laughed anymore, and though she didn't know it, her friends were worried. No one knew what had happened to her, during the summer before her seventh year. Even Dumbledore didn't know everything, since he was so busy with the war. She liked it better that way. 

However, her friends were worried. She had come back that year looking rather bad, and was the first to admit it. She was thin, and had dark circles under her eyes. Her wardrobe colors rivaled Snape's... Snape.... She shook her head before she was caught up in fantasies about his ebony hair. 

With sleep and a small amount of make-up, the dark circles around her eyes faded, and she quickly gained back most of the weight. And the cuts and bruises... The ones that a dozen or so students saw on the train when Malfoy had seen when he had pushed her and her robe flew back? They disappeared so fast, most thought they were imagining things. 

They only thing that stayed the same was her clothing. Most thought it was a fashion choice. Some thought she was imitating Snape. Harry and Ron did not ask, and considering it involved clothes, no one was surprised. No one seemed to notice that Hermione had stopped raising her hand in class, and while she still got top marks, she now did not force her study habits on others. In fact, she barely talked to anyone at all. She was even distancing herself from Ron and Harry.  It seemed to her that Harry and Ron were just happy not to have color-coded notes forced on them any more.

Honestly, Hermione did not care if they were worried. It was her problem, and they could shove their "worries" up their bloody asses. With a sigh, she focused on the book she was still aimlessly flipping through. She passed a letter she had written to Ron, telling him what an idiot he was, and stopped on a poem she had written on that very window ledge. She read over it quickly. It was one of her favorites. Then again, the ones that ended in death usually were. 

_Falling_

__

_The feeling of icy wind tearing at your clothes_

_Useless Adrenalin,_

_Pumping electricity through your veins_

_Terror_

_A silent scream echoing on your lips_

_Sound, carried away by the rushing wind_

_Grasping at nothing_

_Summersaults through the air_

_Desperations complex cross of fear,_

_Hope and Denial_

_Your very thoughts, torn away_

_As the ground rushes up to meet you _

_Still far,_

_But closer with each second that passes_

_Trying to breath through the panic_

_You calm your gasps_

_Acceptance_

_Blessed Acceptance_

_Just before you hit the ground_

_Acceptance that it is your time _

_That your guardian angel has left you_

_And__ there is no escape form eventuality_

_You hit_

_And__ feel nothing, _

_your__ nerves too broken to register the undoubted pain,_

_Lying there,_

_Your world falls into darkness,_

_And__ as your soul flies free,_

_The last sound you hear is the whistle of the wind..._

As she finished reading the poem, Mrs. Norris walked into the astronomy tower. With a start, Hermione pulled her wand. 

"Stupidify!" She said, clearly.

The cat fell down unconscious, and she headed back to her dorm. She never noticed in her rush that she left the little black book behind.

(A/n woohoo! Second chapter done! Snape's POV next folks, so ya'll hurry back now)   

 

Barb: Thanks my first Review. I hope you continue to think mine is one of the good ones!

Cassandra: Thank you! I'm glad you think so.

Sara:  Thank you! 

Kathleen: Yes, I realized that a bit too late... But thank you for justifying it so I don't have to! Since it was going to be a one shot, I really didn't think about how the romance would turn out, but I'm taking your ideas into consideration. Ps. Many Hugs for my longest review. 

Geistesstorunghoffnungen: Wow! I've never been called royalty before! Thanks for the review!

Devil's Advocate: Epp! *Runs from flame-like content.* I'm sensitive... Lol, thanks for the constructive criticism, and I hope I addressed it in the chapter. Like I said, I didn't realized it until too late.

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Xale: Thank You! BTW, I like your name!


	3. Chapter 3 Lost and Found

Arg. Too lazy to do authors notes… I apologize for not updating, but I was horribly uninspired. For a time, I was considering not finishing it at, but was bored in science and just started writing J 

Have a nice day (and R&R)  

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Lost and Found

            When Severus returned from the Death Eater meeting that night, he should have gone to the hospital wing, or at least gone to see Albus. But if he had done that, this story might not have come to pass in the same fashion that it did. Instead, he went up to the astronomy tower, to clear his mind, and sort out what was safe to tell Albus, and what was best to keep to himself, for his own safety. He sat down on the ledge of the window and closed his eyes, spelling a bandage over the wound above his eye. 

            It had been a long meeting, with various plans being made, stories being told, and punishments being given out. The stories were irrelevant; he wouldn't even consider telling them to Albus. They had already happened, and there was no one to save. It was not worth his position to have the Auror's find what was left on the Abbots' even if he knew there was no chance of them being found on there own. The tortures were the same. It was the regular victims (himself included) for the regular minor screw-ups.

            The plans however, were a different matter. There was an attack planned for a nearby muggle town. There was also an assassination hit planned for a prominent mudblood Quidditch player. The problem was, he could really only afford to save one. This shouldn't be his decision, but he knew Albus would try to save both, and when he did, the dark lord would become very suspicious. 

            The yowling cat startled him from his musings. He looked in the shadows until he identified Ms. Norris. He almost dismissed it then, but he then realized that the cat was partly frozen in a body bind. He quickly released the cat and then wonder who had been up here before him. It would have had to have been someone intelligent or they would have just run off instead of stopping the cat. Malfoy possibly? Or a maybe one of the Ravenclaws. 

            He shrugged, it wasn't important, and whoever it was was long gone now. He sat down of the window, and looked up at the stars. It took a second to realize that the lumpy object he was sitting on was not part of the window sill. He fished the small black book out from underneath him, and looked at it curiously. It was too small for a school book and students rarely left there novels up here. Suddenly he realized it was probably a diary. He went to pitch the useless drivel out the window, but morbid curiosity stayed his hand. He opened the journal, swearing to himself that if the was one word useless romanticism then he would toss it from the roof. However, instead he found himself looking at a poem, written in small non-descript handwriting. He read it once quickly, then again slower.  

~

_Star-Seeing Night_

_Nikki, six years old, bundled_

_In her brother's coat, blinks away_

_Sleep's slow sedative. _

_            Will we see the moon? She asks_

_            Maybe, if the clouds break soon enough, _

_            They tell her. Aren't you a lucky girl_

_            To see the stars?_

_But moon and stars to her are mere_

_Abstractions. She knows about them_

_As she knows elephants and sailing ships._

_Has seen stars in photographs taken_

_High above the clouds' narcotic quilt_

_-jewels thrown savagely on black cloth_

_by some magnificent thief. _

_Still, she expects the stars will wear_

_Five neat points, imagines the moon_

_With a fat nose, like the symbols _

_Used even to this day on the nursery walls._

_            Nikki, wake up._

_            See the stars. _

_Nikki struggles through muffling,_

_Layered sleep. Her world of muted days_

_And cloud reflected city glow at night_

_Has_

_                 vanished. Overhead_

_the stars hang near,_

_intense and lapidary, as though_

_the gem-encrusted fabric of the sky_

_drooped with their weight._

_Wondering, she lifts her hands. Sudden_

_Hunger makes her fingers curl,_

_Coveting glory, coveting their fire._

_Stars suddenly as real_

_As the fizz of soda pop, as close_

_as sparklers on her birthday cake._

_            Will they be here tomorrow?_

_            No, just tonight._

_            Aren't you a lucky girl_

_            To see the stars_

_            At least this once?_

_But luck drains out of Nikki's eyes,_

_Like starlight through her small,_

_plump fingers._

_            They won't be here_

_            Tomorrow?_

_The loss assaults her. Some birthright_

_Snatched away before she knew_

_The heritage was hers. She is angry._

_Her voice beats wings_

_Above the reverent murmur of the crowd._

_            No! No!_

_            I want them again_

_            Tomorrow._

_The stars sing back to her, in_

_voices incandescent._

            It was credited to an 'Alice Major', whom if Severus remembered correctly was a muggle poet. Severus flipped through the book. It was filled with poetry, letters, and personal notes, all written in the same small even lettering. He flipped to the beginning of the book, already having a sneaking suspicion of whose name would be there. He was not surprised. Hermione's name was written in plain bold black letters. 

            Severus closed the volume gently, and put it back on the ledge. He wouldn't take it back to his rooms, even to satisfy his curiosity. Gryffindor or not, he respected her intelligence more then that, and when she realized it was missing, she would not doubt come up here after it. He rose from the small ledge and walked down the stairs of the tower. The small book was unnoticeable in the pocket of his robe, and he could almost convince himself that he had left it behind.

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More when I get around to it. 

Flames used for satanic rituals :-P


	4. Chapter 4 Unloved

A/N: Yes, I know, I went away and came back with this short, rather unsatisfactory chapter, but that's just the way it is. It's the summer, be happy. Feel the love.

To everyone who reviewed! I love you all! Please come back and do it again!!!

Bugger.

Hermione cursed to herself as she hurried through the halls at an urgent pace. It was the darkest part of the night, but she felt no need to light her wand. It would do no good. She knew the route so well she could walk it with her eyes closed, and besides the light would only attract attention.

She cursed again as she climbed the steep staircase that headed up to the astronomy tower. She was cursing her life, cursing the dark, but most of all, cursing her own stupidity. How could she be so stupid to leave her book behind? It was practically her most valuable possession, so what does she do? Forget about it!

The finally made it back to the window she had been sitting on earlier. On it... There was no book. She cursed again and looked around the room, then looked outside to see if it had fallen out the window. She found nothing on both counts. This was ridiculous. Who would take her book? She pulled out her wand. "Accio Book" she called loudly.

Down in the basement, a small black book flew out of a surly professor's hand and banged roughly into a mahogany door twice, then promptly collapsed onto the ground. But Hermione couldn't know this from the astronomy tower, so when the book had not arrived a few minutes later, she gave up and did not try to cast the spell again. She returned to her room and picked up a piece of parchment from the floor. With the quill she kept beside her bed, and faint wand light, she tried to write some sort of poetry to calm herself down...

She found her thoughts turning again to her professor. As her pen began to scrawl words across the page, she briefly reflected on how easy it was to write poetry about unrequited love.

_When did this happen?_

_When did I fall?_

_Why must I have chosen you?_

_The most unattainable of all._

_It shatters me_

_To know I must be content with what I have_

_You can never know. _

_I must abandon this ill conceived hope_

_Forget this path, _

_Let go of the rope._

_You've never even glanced my way_

_To preoccupied by hate. _

_I shouldn't waste my time on you_

_But here I am_

_Writing _

_Angst ridden poems_

_While I wait _

_And want_

_And wait_

_And want_

_And I have no choice_

_But to wear the mask _

_That was handled to me by an unsatisfactory life_

_And to tell the lie. _

_Bugger_

_I wish. _

_In the end_

_I know I'll die alone._

_Just as it started_

_With nothing_

_And no one_

_Just a few more sins_

_Wondering where _

_And when it never began_

_And what if I had done thing differently_

_Been in your house_

_But knowing_

_That nothing would be different_

_To you_

_In the end._

Hermione dropped the pen after she finished to poem, but sleep was busy elsewhere. She hid the poem, then fretted for hours about the book.

Finally, she slipped into a light, violent sleep. She was haunted by dreams of scarlet fish and black globes with stars twinkling inside of them...

R&R because you love me :-)


	5. Chapter 5 Finale Fatale

OK… I know I was gone forever… I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. My life just kind of moved on without fan fiction for a while. However, I'm back, and ready for action now! Woohoo!

On a personal note, I really want to thank all of the people who reviewed this story. I want you all to know that you are what brought me back from the painful depths of not-writing-things. Just seeing how people appreciated what I had to say made me make another attempt at finishing this. Even though it is NOWHERE near complete… Oh boy… We have a ways to go yet. Anyways, enjoy!

_**Finale Fatale**_

If there was anything that Snape hated more then angsty teen poetry, it was angsty teen poetry that he was unable to stop reading. He had tried all right, and had returned to his bed repeatedly, however he somehow always found himself back in his armchair, squinting at the small writing in the torchlight. Even when he had his meeting with Dumbledore, all he could think about was the sinful book pressed in his pocket. It felt heavy, and the weight of it taunted him, begging to have its secrets revealed.

Of course, Snape didn't really care about anything that Hermione Granger had to rant about in her little diary… Except for that poem. He truly hoped that the example of teen lust that he had found in his trash can was a passing fancy, a literary exploration of poetic talent, of you will. However, the desperation of it discouraged him from getting his hopes up. This was good, because a quick skimming over the contents of the little black book soon crushed the modest hope that had dared form in the pit that was Snape's heart.

He sighed as he stopped to take a slower look at some of the pages. His name wasn't mentioned on every page, but it was there much more then it should have been. He shook his head, frustrated. His name shouldn't have been there at all. And even if it was there, even if it had been scrawled over every page in a pink pen with hearts surrounding it, he shouldn't have cared in the least.

But, for some reason, sleep eluded Severus that night, and he was incessantly draw back to the book, and the desperate world of pain, confusion, apathy and desperation that lay within. There was an astounding amount of talent in the poetry, but it was overshadowed by the raw emotion that resounded through each sentence. He was amused by the fact that in many cases, her legendary intelligence and composure deserted her inside the pages, and she was often reduced to using brutal insults and curses to describe herself and those around her. Her letter to Ron, cursing him with seven years of built up resentment and anger actually made him laugh out loud, and he took some sick satisfaction in realizing that no such letter was written about him.

As the night crawled on, he read though each poem, quote and letter quickly, then attempted to return to his bed. But when he realized that the hours seemed to crawl a lot slower when you are lying alone in an empty bedroom, he returned to his armchair once again, and magically began copying the best poetry from the book, as well as anything that made reference to him, or her adoration of him. It was a long process, and by the time he had gone through the entire book a second time, the sun had just begun to tint the walls of the Great Hall.

Severus knew this, of course, seeing as he had en excellent perception of the passage of time. However, before he went up to the Great Hall for an early breakfast, he paused to read one the last poems that he had copied out of the book. Resting back in the chair, he allowed him imagination to flow with the words and emotion in the text.

_Finale Fatale_

_He recited a poem,_

_Of Blood sex and violence_

_And she fell to her knees, _

_Begging for silence_

_He never liked the idea,_

_But he had his orders,_

_The master was quietly intent_

_But demanding in his desires_

_Prerequisite? Depression_

_Future outlook? Suicide_

_The angsty unloved teenage girl_

_Was thought to be the perfect 'bride'_

_She ignored all her pain,_

_For the first time in her life,_

_There was sweet passion in the dark of night_

_And during the day she was his wife_

_She never saw it coming, _

_Her torture lasted months,_

_Bound, naked, violated, drowning in her own filth,_

_She wondered how she could have lost her way_

_She hated them,_

_But him most of all…_

_They had no right to do this,_

_And she would one day make them suffer_

_But when he finished the poem,_

_Of blood, sex and violence, _

_She collapsed on the floor,_

_Cursing the silence. _

On the bottom left had corner of that page, a note had been made which read;

_Why is it that we desire that which is unattainable? Are we truly so perverted that we covet the thought of chaos to satisfy brief lust and a painful curiosity to know if more was possible? If love was possible? _

_And more importantly, WHY CAN'T I SEEM TO STOP! _

However, Severus was unable to ponder that particular mystery, because before he had reached the last line of the poem, he slipped back onto his chair and let oblivion envelope him.


	6. Chapter 6 City Of Pastel Dreams

A/N: Aren't you all impressed, two whole updates in a fairly quick succession! And I would have had this one done sooner, except I didn't have computer access for the weekend, as I was in Bancroft (That's cottage country in Canada for all the Americans and Brits out there). And it's the longest chapter so far. Booyah!

Thanks again to all the reviewers out there who enjoy this story! And please if you read the story, PLEASE review. Even if you hate it! I live for your comments! (and they make me write about a million times faster) One note, since someone asked in a review, unless otherwise specified, all of the poetry was written by yours truly.

One more thing. For anyone who has been waiting for updates to any of my other stories, I am unfortunately going to have them on hiatus for a while longer, as I don't want to start working on all three again, then not finish any of them. However, I WILL finish them eventually!

So, that about all I have to say, so enjoy the chapter, and once again, R&R!

**City of Pastel Dreams**

Even Harry and Ron noticed that something was wrong with Hermione at breakfast the next day. She looked even paler then what had become normal, and the bags under her eyes were showing through a sloppy makeup application. She looked like a very nervous reanimated skeleton. She knew she looked horrible, she just was too busy trying to come up with a way to get her book back before someone got there hands on it and posted pages of it over the school. With that on her mind, she real couldn't be bothered to give two flying fucks about what she looked like or how much her appearance made Ron and Harry worry.

Halfway though breakfast, and slightly rumpled looking Snape walked into the dining hall. To a casual observer, Snape would have looked perfectly normal or maybe perhaps slightly tired. On the other hand, Hermione was something much more then a casual observer, so she caught the scratches on his face, and the dead "I've-yet-to-really-sleep-in-the-last-couple-of-days" look in his eye that matched the one in her own. She turned away quickly, just in case whoever found her book was paying attention and chose this moment to call attention to her fixation.

Nevertheless, no matter where she looked, her thoughts remained on the onyx haired man sitting calmly in his seat at the staff table, eating a piece of toast… Just taking a little bite, and then enjoying it thoroughly before letting the tip of his tongue dart out teasingly to remove the tiny droplet of butter that had appeared on his lip, then tauntingly continuing to eat as if he wasn't tormenting her with his every action. She shook her head fiercely to try and rid herself of the mental image. The Great Hall wasn't the time or place for that. At least not during breakfast. But really, who needed this long to eat! It was becoming torture to be in the same room as him.

Finally the meal came to a close, and the trio split up to find their separate classes. The day seemed to drag on forever, and although Hermione tried to repeat her "Accio" charm frequently over the course of the day, there was no sign of book, no matter where she was in the school when she cast the charm. She finally gave up the search around dinner and, being the rational girl she was, came to the unfortunate decision that someone had found the book, and was now keeping it somewhere indoors, and locked away. This worried her greatly, because she knew that seventh year Slytherins and their dates occasionally used the astronomy tower as a make-out spot, and she sincerely hope it wasn't one of them who found it. After all, they weren't the most mature people in the entire world.

After trying to summon the book once more after dinner, she returned to the common room with Ron and Harry. However, after about fifteen minutes of painfully awkward silence and concerned stares, Hermione made her excuses, and her escape to bed. She climbed in the large four poster bed, and closed the curtains behind her. She cast a "Lumos" charm, figuring that she would read her new charm book for a while before falling asleep, however when the light fell on her pillow, she was greeted with a surprise that made her day. The book was there, resting lightly, as though it had been placed there by one of the ghosts.

She pounced on it, praying fitfully that nothing had been damaged. She flipped through the pages, half expecting cruel and childish graffiti to be scrawled all over them, but everything seemed fine. She exhaled a sigh of relief and it felt like she had been holding it in all day. She dropped the book onto her bed and realized that she suddenly felt exhausted. It occurred to her that she hadn't slept the night before, and in retrospect, that seemed like a very long time to be awake for.

She was about to extinguish her wand, when suddenly, she noticed something peculiar about her book. When she had dropped it, it had fell open to the last page which, due to the fact she had only written in the first half, should have blank. However, there was in fact writing there, and although it was small and neat like hers, it was defiantly not her penmanship. She drew her wand in closer and attempted to read it. Although one would have expected a smart girl like Hermione to notice it instantly, it took reading the first three lines for her to realize that it was poetry, and fairly good poetry at that.

_City of Pastel Dreams_

_There were never any questions, _

_That he couldn't answer with his lies_

_She begged without knowing it_

_He left everything to the emotionless archangel _

_that led him through the painful parts_

_and she was blinded by sight _

_But, he can see though her,_

_paperdoll with faded strings._

_She knows He can control the weather, _

_He wonders why it always rains._

_She cut off all her hair to try to make him feel at home. _

_He made the choice to starve her._

_He was the ultimate example of inconvenience_

_the hardest step he refused to take._

_They're never here, but they'll never leave this._

_they're too busy dying in the blinding interrogation_

_and watching each other bleed, _

_While dreaming of a city they never could conceive._

The poem left her puzzled. She didn't recognize the writing, but it must been put there by whoever had found her book. When she found the book in her bed, Hermione's first thought was that someone in her house had to have found the book, because how else could anyone return it to her bed without the password. If that was the case, however, someone in her house was hiding a poetic talent that she never would have expected.

As she extinguished her wand, she made a solid vow to herself that she would seek out whoever wrote that poem. She would need to, for her own safety. Although most of her references to her "obsession" were subtle, she knew that it was fairly easy to deduce whom she was talking about. She would have to make sure that whoever had read the book would keep her secret, or take precautions so that they would have to.

TBC


End file.
